I Met You When the Sun Went Down
by Ronamelia
Summary: Matthew Williams wakes up in a 24-hour diner, on the opposite side of the American-Canadian border he's supposed to be on. It doesn't matter that he doesn't have anything with him right? And this town is lovely! So lovely! So...perfectly...lovely? So... so... (Amecan) Not an AU-Sorta.
1. Chapter 1

It was brimming on 1:30 AM, and his shift wasn't over for five and a half more hours. There was caked mud on the checkered floor tracked in by waiter's mucky converse that broke up the black and white monotiny, and tired customers who were sucked in by the diner's sleepy vibe.

One of the customers was actually asleep, his forehead resting on the white tabletop and light blond hair blocking out his face, a soft snoring coming from his direction. He had a mostly-eaten stack of pancakes next to him, pushed aside to make room for his head on the tabletop.

Alfred, the waiter, refilled a coffee mug as the blond customer grogily raised his head up. He yawned and ran his hands over his tired eyes to try bring some life back into himself. The lights flickered over his table as he leaned back against the bright red booth.

"Uh…Hey." The blond muttered to the seat next to him.

Alfred blinked and stared at him, nearly letting the coffee he was filling spill over, finally noticing when he started accidently pouring it on his hands.

"Dude? Can I get you something?... Are you okay?" Alfred asked, leaning over the counter to try and get the guy's attention, coffee mug in one hand, coffee pot in the other. When he didn't get a reply he sighed, shoved the coffee pot back into the machine, and took the coffee to the only other customer; a hunched over man who was gnawing on an overcooked steak in a dark booth.

"Where, uh...Where am I?" The blond customer asked, covering his eyes with his hands and resting his elbows on the table. His voice was soft like he was whispering, but it almost echoed around the empty diner.

Walking over to the blond's table with another cup of coffee in a mug that advertised a faded bait and tackle shop, Alfred set the cup down in front of him.

"You're in McClannin's 24-hour diner, dude." Alfred said, reaching up to unscrew the lightbulb from the lamp above. This customer had been in the diner from when Alfred started his shift at midnight, sleeping the whole time, and it was a safe assumtion to guess this guy was either exhausted or hung over. At least, to Alfred it was.

"McClannin's?" He muttered. "Vancouver? There isn't a restaurant called that in Vancouver."

"Hey, buddy, what's your name?" Alfred asked, sitting down across from the guy. He set a few creamers down next to the coffee mug that he pulled out of his apron, and was met with incredibly tired eyes.

"...Matthew. Williams...I think...wait, yeah, no, Matthew Williams." He replied, pushing aside his shoulder-length hair behind his ears to see better. He was thankful for the dimmed lights and made a mental note to thank the waiter when he was fully awake. Taking a sip of his coffee, he studied the guy across from him.

A fellow blond kid, with deep-blue eyes and sandy hair with freckles to match. Kinda looked like himself, but more sun-bleached. Matthew noted the dirty glasses hanging off the waiter's shirt collar and his chapped lips.

"Well, Matthew, I'm Alfred. And uh, sorry to break it to you, but you're not in Vancouver. Well, not Vancouver, Canada at least. Or Vancouver Island. You know what, never mind, you're not in Vancouver at all."

Matthew jerked his mouth away from his mug as the coffee burnt his lip, nearly thudding it against the tabletop..

"I'm not, not… where am I then?" He stuttered out, fully awake now and back to his normal, nervous self.

He didn't remember this place. He didn't remember falling asleep in a questionable diner in an unknown place, drinking watery coffee across from a waiter who looked like he should be a high school senior. Where the hell was he?

"Sanooq, Washington State!"

Matthew blinked in response.

"I'm Alfred, I just turned 19 a few days ago, and I live here! Well not, here-here, but I live close." Alfred said eagerly, brightening up now that Matthew seemed more awake. "It's nice here but... it's not on any maps... How'd you get here?"

"Ok, well, um… I'm Matthew, 19, Canadian," Matthew blurted out, looking around the diner. He pulled the blind slits apart to look at the night outside."I was in Canada a few days ago, I think... I, um, so, I'm in the U.S.? Thats...uh, well..."

Matthew sunk down into the booth and ran his hands through his hair, pulling the blond strands down across his eyes. He pulled at a dead skin strip on his lip and kneaded his hands into his sweatshirt.

"How did I get here?"


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This chapter is super short, sorry.

"So, wrong side of the border?" Alfred asked, wiping down the table behind Matthew's.

Whoever had sat there last had left coffee stains everywhere and some kind of syrup drizzled all across the tabletop. A toothpick wrapper was shoved inbetween the sugar packets and a napkin was wadded up, shoved into a glass with a film of milk swishing around in the bottom.

"I... I guess so..." Matthew replied, barely above a whisper. He was staring down into his coffee like it had all the answers, huddling the mug against his chest. "I can't remember what I was doing before."

The tabletop squeaked as Alfred applied some elbow grease to a stubborn coffee stain. He was staring at the back of Matthew's head as he leaned against the table, going from vigoriously scrubbing to barely wiping. Was this guy okay?

Yellow streetlamp light filtered in through the windows, brightening the parking lot and casting the Evergreens around them in a warm glow. The streetlamp flickered and moments later popped, the parking lot darkening as Alfred reached to pull the blinds shut.

"From Scotland."

The man in the other booth threw his fork and knife down, mouth full of slightly chewed steak and potatoes. His voice was heavy with a scottish accent and garbled with food, an green jacket hanging off his shoulders that shook as he shifted around.

'Ex...excuse me?" Alfred asked, looking over at the man, wiping his glasses clean with the dirty dishtowel.

"Scotland!" The man said louder, swallowing his food and nodding at Alfred. He took a chug of his soda, grimaced, and slammed it down.

"Hey, dude! Broken things come out of my paycheck!"

Alfred rushed across the room and snatched the now empty soda glass up, flipping it over to make sure that it was still in one piece.

"Woke up on a plane one night, halfway over the Alantic." The man said, standing up and brushing himself off, ignoring Alfred. "My brother, one of them anyways, got me into an airport, got me drunk, headin' to New York."

The guy grabbed his food and slid out of the booth, jerking his plate off the table. His food nearly slid away, a little red basket full of fries desperately clinging onto the plate. He grabbed his glass back from Alfred -"Hey!"- and shuffled over to the counter.

Alfred could get a good look of the man in the lights above the counter. He was a tall, lean man with dirty backpack slung around his shoulders. His hair was sticking out in greasy strands, the same rust color as his stubbly beard. A scar ran across his nose and there was a rather obvious chunk of nose missing, like a nose piercing had been ripped out at some point. He looked in need of a shower as he grabbed a fistful of napkins from the counter and ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back.

"Next few days or so 're a blur... ended up here. Turns out, my brother found another one of my brothers hiding out here, livin' above some artists in town. Weird ones they are, funny accents."

A handful of fries was shoved into the guys mouth as he snorted.

"Yeah?" Matthew whispered, turned slightly towards the man, who had now straddled a bar stool.

Alfred was now sitting on the table's countertop, wide-eyed and listening attentively, dishtowel clutched in hand. His feet barely scraped the floor and he leaned back against his palms."What else?"

"Well, I got hungry, didn't feel like eatin' whatever my brother's had in store. My third brother showed up about, two hours ago, give or take. Which reminds me," He said, turning to look at Alfred, steak literally in his hand, "This steak, it's god awful."

"Sorry, bro, I'm a waiter, not a chef. Our short order cook left us after the boss man decreased his pay."

"Names' Allistor. Or Scottie, if I'm drunk enough." He paused. "Sorry, 'bout your chef and all."

Matthew spaced out, staring at Alfred distantly. His eyes were teary with sleep and so far all his coffee had done was warm his hands.

"Whatever, dude was nuts anyways."

Matthew snored.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I'm writing this in WordPad, please forgive.

It was now seven minutes until Alfred's shift was over, according to the old style clock above the counter. Alfred was busy picking at a band-aid that was stuck across his thumb, chewing on the brown cloth.

Allistor had left around two, mumbling about going to find something to drink. Alfred offered him water and more soda, but just got a slap on the back and a 'Nice try, Laddie' instead.

Alfred had noticed that he didn't leave a tip, or pay at all for that matter, and Alfred found himself cleaning in the darkest corners of the diner for enough money to scrounge up the cost of Scottie's meal. He wouldn't have enough out of pocket. Or out of savings. Just in general really, and this became more and more painstakingly obvious as he dragged himself around on all fours under tables and behind booths.

Matthew was asleep again, fully slumped over in his booth now, a steady stream of drool com out of his mouth and onto the seat. Somewhere during the early hours, in-between money-searching and the sunrise, Alfred had laid his jacket down on top of him. An old-fashioned bomber jacket with an airplane patch and a large '0' on the back. It had this sticky film on the backside, like sticker residue.

"Can I get you more coffee, sir?"

Now Alfred was patiently holding out a coffee pot out to a customer, a brown-haired man with papers lined out in front of him. He looked vexed, or at least he always did to Alfred, like he was going into an eight hour meeting, with his sunken eyes and bitten nails.  
"N-no, thank you though." He replied. His eyes swept up and down Alfred's appearence. "Alfred, are you- no, thank you, I don't need any creamer- are you eating enough?"

This was why Alfred always wore his jacket. Without it, every t-shirt he wore looked like it was grasping for dear life on his shoulders, his ribs visible under the soft material.

"Me? Ha, yeah man! Don't worry about me, Mr. Laurinaitis. I'm good." Alfred joked, smiling as he swiped some crumbs off the counter.

"Well, you can always stay with me and Felixs, alright? We worry about you getting enough food."

"Thanks, Mr.L. But really," Alfred smiled. "I'm all good."

"Who is he?" Mr. Laurinaitis asked, glancing at Matthew over in his own booth, having just let out a particulary large snort and shifted around.

"Some Canadian kid. My age, he rolled in here last night. Named Matthew."

"Al, please, I don't think-"

"Calm down, broseph! He'll love it!"

A clicking sound woke Matthew up, like a camera shutter. Dazedly Matthew raised his head up, bumping it against the bottom side of the table. "Ow."

Alfred was squatting in the seat on the opposite side of the booth, leaning half-way onto the table. He was holding his phone up in the air in front of himself, the inward-facing camera on, both his and Matthew's faces in the frame.

"Hey! What are you-" Matthew started, interupted by a groan from Alfred.

"Dude! You ruined the shot!" Alfred whined, sliding back into his seat. He pouted and spun around to face Matthew. "I was gonna post that one on instagram."

Matthew sat up and wiped the drool from his mouth, blinking at the smiling blond across from him.

"Look!" Alfred shoved his phone into Matthew's face. "We look so alike!"

"Hm? Kinda, I guess..." Matthew pushed the phone away and covered his eyes from the rush of bright light streaming into the diner from the windows. "What time is it, eh?"

"'Bout Seven-thirty. I got off shift half an hour ago." Alfred slid his phone back into his pocket and stretched out in the booth.

"Who's he?" Matthew asked quietly, looking around the diner and seeing sitting at the counter, hunched over in his work and scribbling on a piece of paper. "That's not Scottie."

"Ah, he works in town hall. He and his partner do... I don't know, something." Alfred smiled. " I really like him. They give me a lot of clothes."

"They?" Matthew asked. He pulled Alfred's coat off his shoulders and folded it on the table.

"Oh, thanks, sorry. Didn't want you to be cold. And yeah, they. He and his partner, Felixs. They've been together for, uh...um... A while, I think. Don't know. Felix is pretty cool! Happy guy."

"Mattie?! What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Al, you... you still have these things?"

Alfred held the door open for Matthew, jacket folded in hand. It was cold outside, foggy, the sky overcast as a slight mist fell, blocking out the sun and casting no shadows. He leaned back against the open door and let his head fall back, closing his eyes to the dull light.

The waitress meant to cover the morning shift finally arrived, 30 minutes late, as usual according to Alfred. "It's really not her fault." He said as an old, green Volkswagon Bug swerved into the tiny parking lot, birds scattering every which way.

She was a short girl with short blonde hair, her apron tied crookedly, and she smelled like vanilla, something sweet that Matthew caught a whiff of as she skipped past. She was wrapping a green ribbon in her hair as she kicked her car door shut and half-jogged to the front door.

"Sorry I'm late!" She said as she rushed through the door, smiling as she passed Alfred, who was holding the door open for her. "Toris! Freshen your coffee?"

Alfred waved goodbye and let the door swing shut behind them as he pulled his keys out.

"Is this your truck?" Matthew asked, standing in front of a rather nice looking car, a freshly washed one with a pink heart dangling from the rear-view mirror.

"Uh...no. This is!" Alfred said, patting the hood of an old orange pick-up.

The truck was, in Matthew's opinion, a piece of crap. It looked like it had been T-boned at one point, a huge dent in the side of the truck bed, and rust easily flaked off into Matthew's hand as he squatted down and scratched at the front bumper.

"It's rusted pretty bad." Matthew said with a weak smile.

"Yeah, It's not pretty. But," Alfred laid a hand on the driver's side door. The door squeaked when he opened it."She's my baby. I got her from... I found it. Hey, want a ride?"

Matthew stood up and rubbed his hands off on his jeans.

"A ride?"

"Yeah, to like, a hotel or something? I mean, I think there's only one, but theres a bunch of rentable lodges if you want. Unless you want to walk but, we're like, 3 miles out from town." Alfred explained as he slid into the driver's side seat. He looked at Matthew through the window and smiled, slamming his door.

"Sure, I guess. I don't really have any money though so..."

"We'll figure something out. I gotta stop by my house really quick though, Change out of my uniform and all."

Matthew stood nervously by the side of the passenger side door before flinging it open and hoisting himself inside.

Matthew was holding onto the 'Oh-shit' handle for dear life, knees up against the dash as he peeked out from his under his other hand. Alfred seemed to have no respect for rules of the road, or even a need for a road if the last mile and a half told Matthew anything.

As an old Smith's song blasted from the trucks worn-out cassette player, Alfred drove the truck down a marshy road so dense with trees and plants that Matthew didn't even see it at first, and just assumed it was some off-the-path hiking trail until Alfred violently jerked the truck off the road. Broken glass under the tires, old rusted metal things littering the side of the road, and an old broken gate couldn't stop Alfred's truck from barreling down the trail, not even a ripped 'No Trespassing sign'.

The sudden drops around them as the road seemed to give out on either side only made Matthew want to pee himself out of fear.

"Now I live on the second story," Alfred explained as he tore down the road. Matthew caught a glance of an abandoned washing machine in one of the creeks far below off the road-side. "And I'll only be a few moments, just gotta grab my shirt and stuff, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Ok." Matthew agreed, eyes shut tight as the road got bumpy.

It felt like an eternity until the truck was on gravel and Matthew finally relaxed. He let go of his grip on the handle and quickly switched to holding onto the door handle, ready to jump out and roll if needed. Which honestly he hoped he wouldn't, there seemed to be a large amount of broken glass on the ground.

Alfred swerved so that in front of them was a house, with chipped white paint and a worn looking outside staircase. One set of stairs led to the first floor porch, where a screen door was hanging open and mud-splattered boots were littered. A few guns were on the porch, stacked in the corner under a tattered plaid blanket and behind a yellowed porch swing. The top part of the house where apparently Alfred lived looked like a small attic at most, the outside staircase leading off the right side of the porch and up to Alfred's door.

"Wanna come up with me?" Alfred asked Matthew as he pulled the keys from the ignition. Before Matthew had a chance to answer, Alfred hopped out and slammed the door shut behind him, marching towards the front porch through the mud.

"Sure..." Matthew sighed as he wrestled with his seatbelt. "Sounds great."

Matthew stepped out of the truck and directly into a large mud puddle, gently shutting the door behind him. Glancing back towards the house, Matthew saw someone in the first story part of the house peeking out from the screen door, a little kid.

Matthew waved but the kid just stuck his tongue out at him. Matthew noticed that the kid did wave at Alfred, who smiled back and stomped up the stairs.

"Alfred? Alfred!" Someone called from inside the first floor. Alfred stopped in his tracks halfway up the staircase to the top story. "Is that you? Peter, get back to your homework."

"Hey, Tino!" Alfred replied, hanging onto a staircase rail as he leaned back.

A man stepped out onto the porch and smiled up at Alfred, brushing off his pants. He was covered in what looked like flour and had a cheesy apron tied around his waist with the words "World's Okayest Mom" stitched in the front. The kid clung to the back of the man's shirt and stared at Matthew, making dirty faces at him.

"How are you today Alfred? I made some -Peter, put that back, that's not yours- some cookies! Would you like to come in?" Tino asked, shutting the screen door as he pushed the kid back into the house.

"Oh, no thanks, but thanks for the offer! Hey, Tino, meet Matthew!" Alfred said, gesturing to the gangly Canadian, who was trying to get his coat unstuck from the car door.

Matthew felt stupid as he waved again.

Matthew watched as Tino turned to wave back at him and smiled. Tino looked like a happy guy to Matthew, was that his son in there?

"H-Hi, I'm Matthew." Matthew started as he got his coat unstuck, stumbling backwards. "I'm new here, I just-"

A loud beeping sound from inside of the house cut Matthew off and the ckid stuck his head out the door to look at Tino. He had what looked like flour suddenly plastered to the side of his face.

"Dad, I-"

"Peter!" Tino said as he threw open the screen door and ran inside. "What did I just say? I just told you not to touch that, didn't I? What were the words that literally just came out of my mouth?"

Alfred signalled Matthew to come up the stairs. "Just go right on in."

Matthew followed and headed up the porch steps two at a time, careful to avoid the many pairs of boots. There were... a lot of boots. Boots that were mud-splattered, some without matching pairs, all in different sizes covering the first few steps up.

The stairs up to the second story seemed tired, like they had been walked up thousands of times and were just only holding on. Matthew passed by Alfred, who gave him a beaming smile and then glanced back down at the front door. By the time Matthew had gotten to Alfred's door, Tino was talking to Alfred through the screen door.

"Alfred, are you sure you're okay?" Matthew heard Tino say, the loud beeping no longer.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Tino."

"What happened to your thumb?"

Matthew hovered in front of Alfred's front door, hand on the knob. Alfred couldn't see him from where he was standing, at least Matthew hoped he couldn't see him eavesdropping. Matthew noted that Alfred's door was unlocked and easily opened when Matthew leaned on it, the sudden give making Matthew trip over his own feet.

"Are you sure you don't want any cookies? Or anything else? I mean, we've got plenty of food and things if you need them and-"

"I'm fine! Tino, really. You guys just look after yourselves all right? How is Peter doing in school?"

"He's doing great! Alfred, just..." Tino paused and Matthew slipped inside of Alfred's house, pressing his ear to the crack in between the door and the wall. He stepped on something as he did, a pencil that he kicked behind him.

"Just be careful, okay?" Tino finished. Why did Alfred need to be careful?

Alfred must have nodded in response or something, because the only thing Matthew heard after that was the creaking of the stairs as Alfred walked up them, exactly the same sounds they made when Matthew walked up them. Matthew flipped around and for the first time, actually saw the inside of Alfred's house.

It wasn't a house.

It was a room.

A tiny room, with a tiny twin-sized bed in the corner laden with patchwork blankets, crocheted quilts, and old flowery pillowcases. The bed was shoved up under a window with tiny nick-nacks on the windowsill, a toy soldier, a notepad, and a little alien action figure. Comic books were stacked all around the room, on top of the tv and all around it, on bookcases, in bookcases, and on top of the small wardrobe shoved in the corner.

"Yeah, nice, ain't it?"

Matthew turned to come face to face with Alfred, who was leaning against the doorframe.

"Comics. Lots of, uh, comics." Matthew stuttered out, shoving his fists in his pockets.

"Yeah! I love superheroes, do you?" Alfred said, walking past Matthew and throwing his coat down on the bed. "My fav is Captain America."

"Superheroes? Never really thought of them much to be honest."

"No? Dude, you missed out. What did you do as a kid?" Alfred asked as he took a giant step over a comic stack to get to the wardrobe. "I get them for free from the library."

Matthew didn't reply. He couldn't remember what he enjoyed doing. He couldn't remember being a kid, it seemed so long ago.

"Don't know." Matthew replied, picking up a comic off the bookshelf.

"Nah? That's okay, I don't remember anything either. I can tell you all about the Back to the Future series, but nothing on what I liked as a kid." Alfred said, muffled as he pulled his shirt off and threw it to the side.

"So, you get these comics for free? Is that why you have so many of them?" Matthew asked as he watched Alfred rifle through his clothes. Alfred didn't seem to have much body fat or built up muscle, just like Matthew himself.

As Alfred finally grabbed a shirt, Matthew got a closer look at the things on the windowsill. He picked up the little toy soldier, a blue coat with a little wisp of blonde hair. There was a chip in part of the little gun the solier was holding, like the wood had been splintered.

"Found that on the ground one day. Don't know where it came from, but it seemed pretty cool." Alfred said, stepping back over the comics to Matthew. "I don't really like it, it gives me a creepy feeling."

"Huh." Matthew put it back on the windowsill.

"Yeah. I wonder who it used to belong to..."

"When did you find it? I haven't seen a kid play with one of these in, well, ever." Matthew asked, facing Alfred. "Nice shirt."

"Don't know, just remember picking it up. And hey, thanks!" Alfred said, pulling the shirt down so Matthew could see it better. The shirt was old and holey with a few grease stains, a little patch in the upper left corner with the words 'Sanooq Fire Department' on it. "It's not mine though, just a hand-me-down. Hey, did you like Tino?"

launching himself down onto his bed, Alfred looked up at Matthew and patted the space next to him on the bed. Matthew looked around awkwardly for a chair before sitting down on Alfred's bed.

"Tino? The guy downstairs? Yeah, he seemed nice, I guess. The kid, not so much." Matthew said as Alfred scooted back and leaned against the wirey bedframe, sitting cross-legged.

"Oh, yeah, Peter. He really is a nice kid but kinda pushy. Don't worry, bro, he's like that with everyone. I really like him! He's fun to play videogames with, he goes hard as crap in Mario Kart." Alfred paused. He looked distant for a moment before his smile bounced back. "That whole family does."

"Whole family? It's not just Tino and Peter?" Matthew asked, flipping through a comic with his hands but looking at Alfred. He landed on a page where Captain America was standing across from Bucky, the Winter Soilder and toyed with the page corner.

"Nah. Well, it's them, Berwald -He and Tino are together I think-, Mathias -I love him, he's so awesome!- , Lukas, and Emil. Lukas and Emil are blood related, I think." Alfred explained as he pulled aside one of the curtains and glanced outside.

"Big family, eh?"

"Yeah. Must be nice."

Both of them grew quiet and Alfred drummed his fingers against his knee.

"Yeah. Hey, can I see this hotel you were talking about?"

"Totally! I think you'll like it, let's go!" Alfred said eagerly, hopping up from the bed, leaving Matthew to flounder in the sudden loss of structure on the bed.

Matthew got up after managing to roll back onto his feet and followed Alfred out, leaving the Captain America and Bucky comic spread out on the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: So I'm writing this while listening to "The Last of Us OST- All Gone (No Escape)" Extended version, in case anyone wants to listen to it as they read.

"Big brother? We're out of shaving cream again."

"Yeah? Ah, I'll add it to the ordering list. Thank you, Erika."

"You're welcome, big brother! What should we have for dinner tonight?"

"Whatever is fine, as long as you're happy with it."

"Thank you, big brother."

Vash counted out the morning till, laying each dollar bill out individually. The store counter was small and covered in papers that were attached with peeling tape, most of them advertising local businesses and events. He hesitated for a moment as he watched Erika juggle a load of jam jars in her arms, sliding them onto a high shelf.

"Big brother?"

"Yes, Erika?"

"Are we ever going to get a bigger store?"

"We don't need a bigger store."

"Alright."

Vash exhaled and finished up counting as Erika slid the last jar onto the shelf and got down off her tippy-toes.

Erika walked back from the middle isle to the rocking chair next to her brother, sitting down in it and folding her skirt under her. She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them as Vash wrapped an old quilt around her.

"Has picked up her mail yet, Big brother?"

"No one has picked up any mail today."

The rocking chair was old, and creaked if Erika rocked in it, little flowers carved out of the handles. Vash had found it for her down in the store's basement a long time ago, covered in cobwebs and dirty with year's worth of muck. It had been a birthday present, one that had kept Vash busy for months cleaning and carving flowers. It'd be good for her, he thought, and would give her a good place to be where he could keep an eye on her, keep her out of danger.

"Erika, could you grab more of the Saltines from the basement?"

"Yes, big brother."

As Erika stood up and walked to the back of the shop, Vash gathered the money up and placed it in the register, leaving a single $10 bill out. This one he placed into a large glass jar under the counter, labeled "Store Fund" in black sharpie on masking tape.

Vash looked out the store windows to Main Street, hands folded ontop of the counter. The weather was still misty and grey, and the clouds looked like grey silk.

"Here you go, big brother!" Erika chirped coming back up the stairs, boxes of Saltines clutched under her arms. Vash rushed over and grabbed them from her, walking over to one of the shelves to stack them up.

This time, Erika looked out the store windows, dusting her dress off as she looked.

"Oh... Alfred got off work already..." Erika said as she watched Alfred's truck, with Matthew in the passenger seat, tear down mainstreet.

"Hmm..." Vash hummed.

"Maybe he'll pick up his mail."

Vash had gotten rid of Alfred's mail folder years ago, now using it to keep track of loose papers. No one had ever sent Alfred mail, and Alfred had never come in to check.

"Big brother?" Erika asked, turning towards Vash.

"Yes, Erika?"

"...Nothing."

Alfred's truck slowed to a stop in front of the only intersection Matthew had seen in the whole town. One lone Street light swayed in the wind above them, the middle yellow light blinking inconsistently.

"The light is broken, it never changes off Yellow. That's the store over there, I usually get everything from there, everybody does. There isn't really much of a choice, it's the only store around. Erika is really nice! Vash is... well, he makes a good deal."

"I-I see... how many people live in this town?" Matthew asked nerously, clutching the 'Oh-Shit' handle, again, for dear life.

"Not more than 200, that's all I know. I know everyone here pretty much, you and Scottie are the first new people I've seen here in a while!" Alfred said, relaxing at the intersection's yellow light. He yawned and rested his elbow on the car door's open window space.

"Small town, eh?" Matthew asked as Alfred drove forward again, past the intersection until he pulled up to a parking space. "What's this place?"

Alfred had pulled them up to a tall building, a picturesque looking one, with logs on the outside of the building and a cheery, winter scene painted on the inside of the windows. A sign on the front said 'Open' in cheery yellow letters, with little purple flowers drawn all around it.

"A place you can stay! It's run by these sisters." Alfred explained, stepping out of the truck. "C'mon!"

"Mattie, c'mon, dude... where is it?"

"Hello, Alfred!"

Matthew had followed Alfred into the hotel, only to be greeted by a short girl with grey hair and blue overalls, ones that had been cut into shorts. Her hair was clipped up with bobbi pins, which stuck out all over her hair and made her look like she lost a fight with a pair of scissors. She seemed... was happy the right word? Or was it nervous?

The inside of the hotel seemed antient, decorated with fake flowers and a large 'Clean Linen' scented candle that was just resting inside of a wax melter, creating a whole barrier of sudden headache inducing smell. The rug looked expensive, but that was the only thing that looked like it wasn't bought at a discount store or in the 80's to Matthew.

"Hey, Irina! How's it going?" Alfred asked, leaning over the front desk to talk to the overalls girl.

"G-good... We're still a bit money strapped but..." Irina turned away from the desk quickly and sneezed into her elbow. "Excuse me! Anyways... How can I h-help you, Alfred?"

"Oh, don't worry I'll be gone in a minute, he won't even know I was here." Alfred looked at Matthew and smiled. "I'm looking for a room for him to stay in, do you have any availble?"

"Of course! We... always do..." Irina said, leaning forward. She looked at Matthew, then Alfred. "Can you pay for one?"

"Oh, I hadn't even thought of that... um.. no, I don't think I can." Alfred said quietly. "I don't get paid until Friday."

"Well... come back in a few days, okay? Listen, I'll give you a deal... one night's worth of pay and he can stay a week, alright?" Irina said.

"Sure, that sounds great!" Alfred replied. He turned to Matthew. "Sorry, bro. Do you mind bunking with me for a night or two?"

"Well, I don't really have a choice, do I?" Matthew said. Alfred smiled at him before turning back to Irina again.

"Is your sister here? I have something for her, I meant to get it to her yesterday, but..." Alfred asked.

"Yeah, she should be in the back room, at the end of the hallway."

"Cool! Thanks." Alfred said, pushing himself away from the front desk and turning to go down the hallway, stopping when he passed Matthew. "Hey, can you chill here for a moment?"

"Yeah, I guess." Matthew responded quietly.

Alfred left, going down the hallway, leaving Matthew alone.

"Do you guys have a- oh." Matthew had turned to ask Irina where the bathroom was, but no one was behind the back desk anymore. "Guess not."

Matthew walked up to the desk and peeked over the edge. All that was there was an old 1998 edition of Home &amp; Garden magazine with some Sunflowers on the cover, a mug full of pens, and a sticky note with the words 'Carrots' and 'Milk' listed on it.

"Is there... no one else here? At all?" Matthew asked the empty room as he turned back towards the front door. He drummed his fingertips against the desk as he looked outside.

Through the window Matthew could see a couple sitting on an old picnic table surrounded by purple wildflowers and tall grass in an otherwise empty lot behind two buildings. Even though the weather was still misty and grey, the couple seemed to be enjoying themselves.

The woman, who was sitting with her back to the table and her arms spread out to the sides, had on a large-brimmed sun-hat and was laughing about something that Matthew just bet was hysterical judged by her reaction, her head thrown back in laughter and one of her hands holding her hat on, her light brown hair tumbling out from underneth.

Next to her was a man, paler than the moon itself, wearing an ripped old t-shirt and frayed shorts. He was sitting simularly to the woman, but with his legs crossed up on the bench and ice cream cone in hand. He watching the woman laugh, smiling himself.

They looked happy.

"Matthew?"

"Hey, Alfred." Matthew asked, turning back to face him.

"Sorry about that, dude." Alfred yawned as he pronounced the word 'Sorry', making it sound stretched out and disconnected. "I'm freaking tired, bro. How you holding up?"

Matthew shrugged at him. "I'm pretty okay actually, guess I got plenty of sleep at the diner."

"Want to go get somethin' to eat? There's a bar not too far down from here, they let people under 21 in, they make a pretty wicked burger..."

"Not really..." Matthew answered quietly, looking down at his feet.

"Well, we should probably get out of here if I can't get you a room. Wanna try to find you a bus schedule?"

"A bus schedule?" Matthew asked quizically, looking back up.

"Yeah! So you can get back to Canada and all?"

"Oh, yeah... maybe later, eh?"

Matthew watched as Alfred ducked down to tie his shoelaces. He was wearing an old pair of red converses, holey and muddy.

"You know, I think an ice cream would actually be kinda nice right now, eh?" Matthew said, lending Alfred a hand to stand up.

Alfred smiled and clasped Matthew's hand as he hoisted himself up. He gave Matthew's shoulder a quick slap and beamed, an actual smile.

"Sounds great, bro!" Alfred replied as he walked past Matthew, holding the door open for him. "You said it was your 19th birthday a few days ago? Mine too! We can get some ice cream as like, a birthday celebration! Did you get anything cool?"

"I didn't really get anything..." Matthew said. He couldn't remember getting anything. "Did you?"

"Yeah! Tino and his family gave me this really cool knife and threw me a party downstairs, it was bitchin', dude. sent me a cake, man, that thing was good. He's the one that runs the bakery shop, along with Mathias. C'mon, we can walk there!"

Matthew was sitting at a small, round, delicate looking table across from Alfred, holding an ice cone with a chocolate-vanilla swirl. Soft music played in the background, and the air smelled like sickly-sweet sugar in the shop, adding to the warm atmosphere.

"And then, right after Captain America deflected the blast with his shield, he charged the guy," Alfred was rambling, arms waving as he went on to explain the heroics of Captain America. "And boom, the day was saved! Pretty awesome, right?"

Matthew nodded and took another lick of his ice cream. Alfred was caught up in talking about Captain America, and Matthew didn't want to stop him. Alfred's eyes were bright and he had a smile bigger than the sun, and Matthew noted how he didn't seem tired anymore, like it was more important to talk about comics then sleep.

"Do you mind if I join you two?"

Mr. Bonnefoy stood next to the table, an extra chair in hand. He looked down at the pair and then to Matthew, catching his eye.

"Sure!" Alfred said, scooting over so there was extra room. He finally took a bite of his ice cream.

Matthew stared at Mr. Bonnefoy.

"Ah, Matthew, yes?" said, a french accent in his words. "I'm Francis."

"Eh, nice to meet you, Francis." Matthew said quietly, quickly looking back down at his ice cream.

"So, Alfred, how is your job at that place," Francis sounded like he biting his tongue, "Going?"

"The diner?" Alfred replied. "Great! Still haven't gotten paid for this week but it's cool. I'll talk to bossman about it soon. How's business here?"

Francis sighed. "Fine. I'd be better if Mathias didn't insist on 'testing' everything we made, but..." Francis went on to talk for a few minutes, resting his head on his hands.

"Do you guys have a bathroom?" Matthew blurted out.

"Yes, here just," Francis said, looking startled. He pulled a key out of his apron pocket and handed it to Matthew with concern. "Lock the door when you're done."

Matthew shoved away from the table, and quickly shuffled to the bathroom door.

"I don't know, dude, maybe it was the ice cream?"

Matthew fumbled with the lock at first, but finally pushed the door open to the dark bathroom. Running his hand over the wall, he found a lightswitch and shut the door behind him, letting a deep breath out.

He didn't realize he had been holding his breath since Francis had sat down with them, a tightening feeling in his chest. Turning and leaning against the door for support, Matthew sunk down to the floor and ran a hand through his hair.

"What was that?" Matthew asked the room. He felt sick to his stomach when he saw Francis... or was it confusion?

Matthew helped himself up and walked over to the sink, turning the cold water on. He ran it through his fingers until finally splashing the water on his face, rubbing it off with his shirt sleeve. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled, a naturally-nervous smile that seemed to faulter under his own eyes.

"Alright, c'mon Matthew, you can do this." He said, turning the water off and wiping his hands on his pants.

As Matthew pulled the key out of the bathroom door lock, he could hear Alfred laughing about something Francis had just said, right out of earshot.

Alfred didn't have a laugh that took up the whole room but instead a stifled one, his face hidden behind the back of his hand as his whole torso shook silently. A snorting sound and wiping away tears gathered up in his eyes, a small smile like Matthew's concealed behind his jacket sleeve.

"Hey, Matthew, you okay, dude?" Alfred asked as Matthew sat back down at his chair.

"Yeah, sorry. Emergancy, you know." Matthew said, brushing Alfred's question off and looking between the two.

This time, when Matthew looked at Francis he didn't feel sick. When Francis' sparkling eyes met his, Francis smiled, expression wrinkles bunching up around his nose and the corner of his eyes.

For the first few minutes Matthew just listened to Alfred and Francis chat, waiting until he worked up the nerve to join in the conversation. At one point the conversation completely switched to French and Alfred looked confused, but then took the opportunity to steal the rest of Matthew's ice cream.

Alfred laughed when Matthew grabbed it back from him, an Alfred-sized bite taken out of it. "Ugh, Pistascio!"

It was nice to be near Francis, to listen to Alfred laugh. Matthew felt like he had been here his whole life, the feeling of being so at home created by the sound of Francis' velvet voice and Alfred's hair shimmering gold under the lights above them. Like when Francis reached over and tucked Matthew's hair behind his ear, or when Matthew licked a napkin and swiped some crumbs off of Alfred's cheek. When Alfred laughed so hard at something that he snorted, or when Francis gave Alfred a kiss on the cheek and Alfred had to hold his glasses on his face.

For a few moments he hoped that maybe Alfred would forget about the bus schedule for a few days, so Matthew could spend some more time with the two of them. What was he doing in Canada, anyways?

"Al, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Well, it's kinda late now to turn back, isn't it?"

Half of the blankets off of Alfred's bed were on the floor, folded together with comics and things having been pushed aside to make room.

"Do you wanna turn a movie on to fall asleep to?" Alfred asked from the floor, laying ontop of the blankets in a pair of old sweatpants decorated in small cartoon bears.

"Sure, if you want. I don't mind the rain though." Matthew replied from ontop of the bed, sleeping in his T-shirt and a pair of borrowed pants.

After they had gotten ice cream, talked with Francis, and the weather had stopped misting and started raining, the duo drove back to Alfred's house. Matthew had suggested Alfred take a nap after the ice cream was done and get some sleep since he couldn't stop yawning, and Alfred seemed more than happy to go along with it.

"Do you like 'Secondhand Lions'?" Alfred asked, pawing through a stack of movies next to the tv.

"I've never seen it."

"Really? Dude, we're so watching it!" Alfred said, prying the case open and pulling out the DVD. He brandished it in the air as he crawled his way over to the DVD player. "The controller is next to you, will you press play?"

"Eh? Oh, yeah." Matthew said, reaching for the controller as Alfred flopped back down on his make-shift blanket bed, throwing the movie case off to the side carelessly.

"Thanks, bro."

Only a few minutes into the movie did Alfred fall asleep, rhythmically snoring and spread-eagle on the floor. He muttered something in his sleep and Matthew saw him swat at his face.

Matthew rolled over and pulled the blankets up around his neck, watching the raindrops roll down the window and the trees outside blow around. About halfway through the movie he fell asleep too, curled up in the upperleft part of Alfred's bed.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Really short chapter this time, sorry. The next one will be up sooner, I swear.

everydaytimelord: I read your review when I was sitting in the passenger seat of my mom's car at an intersection and I made this horrible squealing noise and waved my arms around all excited and the lady in the car across the intersection looked at me really strangely. Your review made me so happy, thank you! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

steelgrey: Thank you so much for reviewing most (all? I need to check) of the chapters! It's really nice to know someone is reading the chapters I post, thank you!

* * *

Matthew woke up to muffled yelling and Alfred's chainsaw-like rhythmic snoring.

"No!" Someone shouted from the floor below, their voice resounding upwards into Alfred's room. "You don't control me!"

Matthew struggled to prop himself up on his elbows on the lumpy bed as his eyes adjusted to the dark. All that lit up the room was the TV, the movie's title menu taking up the screen and flashing repeating movie clips. Matthew squinted around the room and then down at Alfred, who was stretched out on the floor asleep, his features highlighted by the TV screen.

Downstairs the screen door on the front porch slammed open, smashing into the side of the house and echoing into the night. There was stomping out on the front porch moments later, more than one pair of feet.

"Emil!" Someone shouted from outside. "EMIL!"

Matthew flopped back down, sticking his hand out towards the dresser and blindly searching for the TV controller, pressing play so that the movie would hopefully drown out the noise.

It didn't.

The yelling from downstairs went on, more people moving around downstairs and on the porch, slamming doors and shouting. At one point Matthew heard an engine start. For a while Alfred's snoring was the only thing able to block out the noise, rhythmic and uneven.

* * *

_"Yeah... nevermind, I'm sorry, Al."_

_"Did you see that they started playing the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air on reruns? Dude, remember when we watched the pilot first air?_"

* * *

"Just, just take this with you. For your own protection." Vash said, holding a pocket knife out to Erika.

Erika straightened up and rocked back on her heels, her light green windbreaker swishing as the fabric rubbed together.

"Big brother, I'm just going for a walk. Do you really think I'd need something like that?" She asked nervously, delicately touching the pocketknife with her fingertips. Vash's free hand closed on top of her own, pushing the closed pocket knife into her palm and clasping her hand.

"Just in case, okay?" Vash said, his voice soft.

Erika looked up at Vash's face, her eyes meeting his. It wasn't often that she saw her big brother worried, and seeing him like this made her feel nauseous, a feeling of vertigo washing over her. She felt cold and faint when big brother looked like this.

"Thank you, big brother." Erika said, quickly looking away and grabbing the knife, sliding it into her pocket. "I won't be gone long, just a short walk."

Vash looked out the store front and placed both hands palm-down on the counter. "Do you want to take an umbrella?"

"...No, I should be okay. It's only a little fog." Erika said, smiling at his turned face weakly.

Vash looked back at Erika and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, lingering like he was taking her temperature. For a few moments Erika wondered if he was trying to see if she had a fever, so he'd have an excuse for her not to go out alone. But Vash pulled back and returned to his work behind the counter, order forms in hand only seconds later.

Erika made her way outside through the back of the shop after saying goodbye one last time, locking the door behind her, and walking through her big brother's garden.

Flowers had sprung up in little rows in between the vegetable patches and in separate beds. They popped up alongside the cobblestone path, the one big brother had put in a few summers ago after Erika had twisted her ankle running around her favorite flowers, the little white ones that grew in bunches. How old had she been? The flowers smelled sweet and perfumed, like soft summer mornings and fresh fruit.

"Alyssum..." Erika said , taking one last look and smell before walking away from the garden and down the trail, making sure to hold her dress up over the muddy and gross patches.

The air smelled fresh with the fog and heavier than normal, like a cold blanket was wrapped around her shoulders as she walked. The fog made everything look like a dreamland, flowers and trees breaking the monotony.

The pocket knife seemed heavier in Erika's pocket than it did in her hand previously, and she could feel it bounce around in her dress pocket the entire way down to the entrance of the woods. Even as she got away from the jagged cobblestones and onto the soft forest floor the pocket knife seemed to bounce, like it was demanding attention and to be held.

She stopped walking only a few feet into the woods, listening to the silence around her. It was like the world ended here, nothing more than a grey fog, like the town was sealed in a big envelope. She took a deep breath and relaxed, dropping the corners of her dress and letting her hands fall.

Erika's hand brushed against her pocket.

Pulling out the worn knife, Erika flipped it open, holding it gingerly and turning it over. Big brother had used this knife constantly over the course of a few years, flipping it open faster than light. Could she do that? Learn to flip out the blade as fast as big brother?

Practicing flipping the blade open and closed as she walked, Erika was careful not to place her fingers where the blade snapped shut. The first few times she struggled to shut it and had to stop walking completely to do so, using both hands.

_Snick, Snick._ Erika flipped the blade in and out, walking slowly again, happy with her sudden improvement.

_Snick, Snick._

_Snick, Snick. _She looked up for a moment and looked around to make sure she wasn't lost and remaining on the trail. The fog was still heavy and silent around her.

_Snick, Snick._

_Snick, Snick._

How did big brother do it so quickly?

_Snick, Snick._

_**Crunch.**_

Crunch?

Erika stopped in her tracks.

No sudden rush of pain, no broken or cut fingers. Yet.

At first she thought she had maybe caught her fingernail in the blade, but her nails were even as normal when she checked. She flicked the pocket knife back together and looked down, moving her foot backwards.

"What?" She whispered, squatting down, slipping her knife into the dress pocket and reaching for the thing that she stepped on. She was careful not to let her dress get dirty and made sure that she wasn't squatting down into any mud, layering her dress out behind her.

"A phone?"

lifting the cracked phone up and wiping some of the dirt off with her thumb, Erika held it up to her face. Besides the cracked screen - Which she hoped wasn't her fault - and the dirt caked in around it's edges and case, it seemed relatively alright.

"Who does this...?" Erika asked. She looked around nervously.

"Is someone out there?" She called out, still squatting down on the ground. Erika fumbled with the button on the top of the phone, trying to get the screen to turn on. When it did finally respond to her pressing the buttons, the screen flickered on to reveal nothing but a blank white screen.

Erika glanced around her, making sure there was nothing on the ground around her or anything in the trees. Silence boomed around her. No birds, no wind, no sounds of small animals scurrying about. Just eerie silence and her own breathing.

In a matter of seconds the fog had gone from a comforting presence to an empty blank void all around her. Was there someone out there, someone who had dropped this phone?

Erika stood back up and wrapped the phone up in her handkerchief, making sure to get the dirt off before she wrapped it up. Her pocketknife, which previously seemed to weigh a ton, was virtually weightless now as Erika pulled it back out and clutched onto it.

Erika stood there for a minute, the mist and fog swirling before she turned around and sprinted out of the forest, knife in one hand and phone in the other. Her windbreaker swished furiously as she went and her dress dragged in the mud behind her as she abandoned the cobblestone path and made a beeline across the grass for the store.

Erika didn't stop running until she was surrounded by the Alyssum flowers again.

And the smell of them made her feel sick.

* * *

_"Back in 1990? Yeah, I remember."_

_"Well, do you wanna watch it?"_

_"Alfred...America..."_

_"Mattie?"_

_"Yeah, I'll watch it with you."_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I don't have the most stable of internet connections so I combined two chapters into one here and I should be posting another tomorrow. (don't hold me too that though)

* * *

"So it was like, just a phone, eh? Checkmate, by the way."

"Lyin' little-" Scottie huffed, sliding his arm across the checkers board and clearing the pieces.

"Yeah, she found it in the woods apparently." Alfred said, flipping a burger patty on the grill. "Freaked her the hell out too, dude, at least according to Gilbert."

"The albino guy?" Matthew asked, placing the red checkers back in order on his side of the board. "The one with that brown-haired girl the other day."

"Yeah, that's him, bro. He told me that when he went to go buy some... um, well... things," Alfred coughed nervously, "He saw the phone plugged into a wall charger. Knew it didn't belong to Vash or Erika because Vash would say it was just a waste of money. He's a bit of a cheapskate. You want pickles on this, broseph?"

"Ah, no thanks. I asked for pancakes anyways." Matthew replied, jumping one of Scottie's checkers. "...Sorry."

Scottie leaned back in his side of the booth and stretched his arms up above him, his dark hair falling over his eyes. "Why the hell am I hangin' round you two again?"

The diner was quiet for a minute as Alfred finished up Matthew's burger. A checkers board that was set up on the table between Matthew and Scottie ,next to Scottie's mostly-gone Root Beer, was shoved aside as Alfred carried Matthew's food from the kitchen to the front.

Alfred slid the plate onto the table towards Matthew, moments before sliding into the seat next to him, both blonde teenagers sitting across from the redhead. The light above them flickered for a moment and the radio got a bit staticy, breaking up the pop song playing in the background.

"I give you free food at the expense of my own job." Alfred said, smiling at Scottie before looking up at the light. "It's stormy tonight."

"Is starmoy ereby naght-" Matthew struggled to say with a mouthful of burger. "It's stormy here a lot."

"Shit- Forgot to give this to you, here you go, man." Alfred said, digging around in his apron pocket before pulling out a crumpled bus schedule, ignoring Matthew's comment. "I was gonna try to get you on a bus today so you could go home, but it's pretty bad out there."

"Yeah...about that, Alfred?" Matthew asked, looking up from being hunched over his burger. Alfred looked down at him curiously. "Would you mind letting me stay with you for a few more days?"

Scottie looked up from his soda, smirking and wiggling his eyebrows at Matthew.

"No!" Matthew said to Scottie before turning back to Alfred. "I swear, I just wanna stick around here a bit longer. I don't really have anything to do in Canada anyways, I mean..." He trailed off.

"It's cool, bro, stay as long as you want! It's actually kinda nice having someone around." Alfred said, leaning his head back against the seat and resting his arm under his neck. "Yeah. Hope you don't mind the lack of a shower though."

He seemed distracted, like something else was playing in his head instead of the conversation in front of him. Alfred's eyes had bags beneath them, his lips cracked badly, his glasses filthy with fingerprints. The fingernails on the hand Matthew could see were ripped off, like Alfred had recently chewed on them until they broke.

"You know what?" Alfred said, breaking Matthew's observation as he suddenly lurched forward to grab some of Matthew's fries. "I'm gonna go check on the back entrance. Sometimes it blows open in weather like this."

Alfred got up from the booth and cracked his knuckles. "Hey, Matthew, where in Canada are you from?"

"Hmm?" Matthew responded. "British Columbia, the Yukon, Alberta... Everywhere, really. I remember all of it. Why do you... oh."

Alfred had already walked off out of the front of the diner and Scottie had kicked his feet up where Alfred had been sitting. He had flicked one of the outlying checkers pieces aside and rested his head back against the booth, rubbing his temples.

"You ever get that feeling where you got so much going on in your head that it would just be easier to drill a hole in your skull and let it all run out?" Scottie said, barely above a whisper. "You got any siblings, Matthew?"

Matthew shook his head and absent-mindedly stirred the ketchup on his plate with a fry. He felt a sicking pressure behind his navel, like a pestering nervousness. "No..."

"None?" Scottie said, pushing his bangs up into his hair. "Parents?"

Matthew shook his head again and chewed on the edge of the french fry, staring down at the checkers board.

A large crashing sound echoed into the diner from the back rooms right as Scottie was reaching for his soda, catching both of their attentions. For a moment they both stared into the space behind the counter waiting for another noise before turning to another, shrugging, and looking away.

"Quality place here." Scottie chuckled, pulling his glass up to his lips.

"I remember..." Matthew said slowly, concentrating particularliy hard on evenly coating a another fry in ketchup. "... a polar bear."

"A polar bear? Like an actual," Scottie dropped his feet off the seat and leaned forward on his elbows. "Polar bear? Bloody hell... Canada."

Matthew shoved the fry into his mouth and nodded at Scottie. "Yeah."

The two sat in silence, out of conversation.

"YO, ALFRED! HOW THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU BATHE?" Scottie yelled, making Matthew choke on his fry.

* * *

Michelle spit her hair out of her mouth and put her red hair-tie back in. Her hair-chewing habit was getting worse and worse by the day, and her Papa had no problem pointing out her split-ends.

She made a blubbering sound and set her head down on the counter. One of the bookmarks on the spinning display fluttered with every blubbering sound she made, the 3-D fish one where bubbles floated up and down depending on how you held at the bookmark.

A sticky note inches from her face had the number for the ice-cream shop and bakery written on it, stuck to a faded plastic lunchbox. She blew on that too, watching the non-sticky part of the paper lift upwards.

"Hey." Emil said, leaning back from behind a bookshelf. "Got any new travel guides?"

"Nope." She sighed, barely managing a smile at the silver-haired boy. "Everything okay?"

"I'm leaving. I don't wanna be here anymore." Emil replied, walking over to Michelle's check-out desk. "I can't stand being around people all the time."

"But, Emil... this town has less than 400 people in it, that's not too many. Where would you go?"

"I don't know!" He snapped, running his hands through his hair and holding his ears. "I just don't care anymore!"

The phone rang before Michelle had a chance to say anything. She swung around in her chair to grab the phone off the reciever.

"Hello, who is it? I mean- you've reached Sanooq Public Library, how can I help you?"

The voice on the other line was staticy. "Michelle?"

"Alfred!" Michelle said, pulling her knees up to her chest and spinning again. "What's up?"

"Hey, do you guys have any books on Canada? Like, British Columbia?" The volume on the phone was turned up so high that Emil could hear Alfred just as well as Michelle, and Michelle recoiled away from Alfred's loud voice.

"Canada?" Michelle asked, zipping her coat up over her legs. Emil looked at her, hands still over his ears. "Hang on. I'll check. How'r things going at the diner?"

"The diner?" Alfred asked as Michelle awkwardly pushed and pulled her way over to a bookshelf with her only free arm. "Wet."

"Wet?" She replied, running her hand over a small stack of books. "Like a fish?"

"No, more like I ran out of pots to stick under the leaks. Plus, the lights keep flickering. Gives us that nice, wholesome, murder-y atmosphere."

Emil laughed.

"Alright, so I've only got three books on B.C., and one of them is just a chunk someone ripped out of textbook."

"Can you put them on hold for me? Also maybe a few books on Electrical rewiring, the lights keep doing a thing. I can stop by later to get them, probably."

"Of course! Anything else?" Michelle asked, pushing herself away from the shelf and towards the counter.

"Nah, thanks though! I gotta run. Actually, hey, hey," There was a pause as Alfred coughed.",Do they sell licorice at 's shop?"

"Licorice?" Michelle asked, spinning to face Emil from behind the desk. "I'd check 's store instead of Papa's. Why?"

Emil cocked an eyebrow as Michelle shrugged at him.

"That's Emil's favorite candy right? It's just I know he's been having a tough time lately and I can't really afford to get him anything too expensive but I just wanna let him know that I'm here. Matthew told me that he heard yelling last night and I'm just..."

They both waited for Alfred to start talking again, Michelle spinning slowly in her chair.

"Yeah. Worried, I guess. I mean we're only what, two years apart? I hope he's okay."

Emil stared at the phone and let his hands drop to the desk.

"Aw, shit, I gotta go, Sis. Talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay! Bye, bro!" Michelle giggled, waiting to click the phone down before scribbling out a reminder. "So... you still gonna leave?"

Emil hid his face under his hood but Michelle could see the tiniest of smiles on his face before it faded. "Nah... I don't think so..."

Emil couldn't remember how long Alfred had lived in the space above them, but he didn't want to end up like that. He didn't want to end up family-less and living in an add-on attic, working in a diner at ridiculous hours and having a stranger stay in his house.

Michelle smiled and opened her lunchbox, pulling out a small sandwich bag. "Goldfish cracker?"

* * *

Feliciano was perched on a stool with a paintbrush in one hand, watching his brother paint.

Lovino was hunched over in his work, spreading paint quickly over a canvas in short strokes. He was focusing hard, his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth and brow furrowed as he leaned closer to the canvas.

Feli looked back at his own painting. To most people it would have looked better than Lovino's, reminisant of famous Italian artists, but Feli just stuck his tounge out at it. To him it was almost worthless and had taken him only a few hours. It was just another copy of a painting he had seen long ago that in all honesty, was fairly ugly.

Lovino's on the other hand was beautiful, thoughtful, full of life and color that Feli simply didn't see in his work. Sure Lovi's painting was messier and the colors less coordinated, a little bit off and a touch on the cartoon-y side, but it was much more beautiful to Feli.

"I like your painting, big brother." Feli whispered, sliding his feet off his stool.

"Why?" Lovino huffed, setting his paint brush down. "Your painting will sell. Mine will just end up in the fucking basement with the others."

Feli shook his head.

* * *

"If she," An-upturned chair ws slammed down ontop of a table, "Wants to go prancing around with that pony of a thing she calls a boyfriend, then by all means, let her! But I'm not gonna let her come crawling in here everytime she suddenly needs someone to roughhouse with!"

Ludwig rubbed an old rag around the rim of a glass as he watched his brother passive-aggresively slam another chair upside down ontop of a table.

"Did you know that she sold her guns? Sold them! To that store-owner that smells like cheese!" Another chair was slammed down. "Even the one I gave her!"

Ludwig set the glass down, walked around the bar and leaned against the side, watching Gilbert.

"She used to be so awesome! I mean, yeah, we'd fight but, still..." Gilbert held a chair in his arms and pressed against his chest. "We went from hunting buddies to barely talking, and now that we're friends again, she's out there and I'm in here, tied to a bar by my apron strings. She's out there chasing that glasses-wearing pianist flake and I'm just..."

He dropped the chair, letting it clatter against the hardwood floor.

"...Replacable. Forgettable. Until they want something."

He collapsed next to the chair with his legs sprawled out to the side, head hanging in his hands.

Ludwig sighed and grabbed Gilbert by the back of his shirt collar, lifting him up to his feet before enveloping him in a hug.

"Just let them be, Bruder." Ludwig said, letting Gilbert go and brushing his shoulders off.

"I'm trying, West."

"Why don't you go take a break, ja? I'll finish cleaning up."

Gilbert nodded slowly and untied his apron, holding it out to the taller german. "I can get the chair."

Before he could even reach for it Ludwig had the chair in his hands, lifting it up.

"I'll just... be right back." Gilbert said, meandering towards the front doors. "Maybe I'll go see Francis."

* * *

Francis pulled the curtain string and let the heavy fabric fall down over the window. "Disgusting things."

All he got in response was a muffled grunt.

Francis turned around and watched the english man roll over in his bed, tangled up in his sheets.

"You stay too late at Ludwig's again, Arthur?" Francis asked softly, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed.

Arthur opened his eyes, cloudy green contrasting against the dark grey sheets as he wrapped an arm around Francis's waist.

"Dreams. Bad ones." He whispered. Francis ran a hand through Arthur's hair. "I was trying to drown them."

"Must be, if you're telling me about them."

"Shut up, frog."

"You know what, I think I liked it better in here with the curtains open." Francis said. Arthur's grip tightened even though Francis didn't move.

"I did something... bad."

"I didn't realize we were talking about me again." Francis chuckled. Arthur looked up at him. "What did you do that was so bad?"

"I don't know, don't remember but... I regret it."

Francis slid down in the bed so that he was lying back down to next Arthur, who moved so his head was on Francis's chest.

"We all have regrets..." Francis said, petting Arthur's hair.

"Someone... hurt me. I just remember being hurt, and eyes..." He drifted off. "I remember eyes, purple and blue ones. The purple ones were... scared, I think. No, it was the blue ones. Maybe both? "

"Eyes?"

"Yes... just the eyes, nothing else. But it's not real. Just a dream. Purple eyes... absurd."

Francis stopped petting Arthur's hair and spaced off looking at the ceiling. Matthew had purple eyes didn't he?

"The lights in here are entirely too loud." Arthur muttered and Francis pulled the sheet up over his head.

"They are just dreams, Arthur."


	7. Chapter 7

AN: I'd really like to apologize for not having updated this story in such a long time. I was busy trying to graduate high school and moving and junk, but I'll be able to actually get stuff done now.

* * *

Matthew watched rain race down the passenger side window of Alfred's truck as they bumbled down the road to the house, a wet plastic bag full of books bouncing around in his lap. The truck smelled like campfire smoke -or was that just his own scent?- a woodsy tang that wafted around them, infused into their clothing. Music poured out of the radio as some pop singer pledging their love to L.A. and the truck took a turn, Alfred singing along very off-key.

Pursing his lips, Matthew sank lower in his seat as Alfred drove through a puddle and water showered up the truck's side. Matthew had developed this habit of looking over at Alfred every few moments -mainly when Alfred was looking away- and mapping his face, like he'd need to know the outline of it for future reference. Tracing out Alfred's freckles that were scattered out like someone flicked them off a paint brush, or how his lips were just barely parted most of the time. A raindrop rolled down the nose of Matthew's reflection in the window as he watched the trees whip by past them.

"Gotta be careful driving in this rain. I told Tino that I'd cover all this mud with gravel but I, uh, clearly didn't get around to it. Plus, there's all these sharp corners and lil' ravines. " Alfred said, taking a turn slowly as the truck seemed to struggle with traction. "We should really just get this whole road worked on."

"I could probably help you- if you want, eh?" Matthew replied, clutching the oh-shit handle once again, too nervous to shut his eyes as the truck became increasingly difficult for Alfred to drive. His steering wasn't as straight as it was a moment ago, jolting them up and down as the windshield wipers frantically swept away the rain.

"Nah man, I got it. Do you mind if I turn off the radio? It's kinda hard to concentrate with it on." Alfred asked, straightening up in his seat. Matthew nodded and they both instinctively reached for the dial.

The truck jutted over a pothole and Matthew's first instinct was to grab whatever was closest, in this case Alfred's hand instead of the handle, clamping down on Alfred's hand as they bounced over the gravel, just until Alfred pulled away.

"Sorry! I was just-" Matthew stuttered as Alfred's hand flew back to the steering wheel and he swerved the truck away from the side of the road. "Sorry."

Alfred jammed the button for the radio, shutting the pop singer off mid-note. It was far from quiet though as rain continued to assault the truck head-on, horizontal water lines streaming down the window off the wind-shield.

"It's cool." Alfred said, waving Matthew off. The rest of the ride was in palpable silence, Matthew going back to staring out the window as Alfred white-knuckled it the rest of the way down the road.

* * *

"You've always joked when you're nervous. You should laugh with your natural laugh, not that weird one you use around the others."

"Well, Mattie, when I stop being nervous and worried about things I'll give it up. But for now you're just gonna have to live with the cheese crater laugh."

* * *

"Alfred?" Matthew asked quietly.

"What?" Alfred snapped, eyes darting back and forth in the darkness beyond the headlights.

"Nevermind." Matthew said quickly, watching the other's jaw line tense as he clenched his teeth. Alfred looked angry, and the words 'are you scared?' died right in Matthew's throat.

Alfred was just pulling up to the last stretch on the road when the truck made a horrendous screeching sound, refusing to move forward, and sending mud flying up to the windows. Alfred slammed his hands down against the wheel and flattened the gas pedal, just about grinding it down onto the floor cover. They were right on the road's shoulder, nothing but a straight drop down into a creek below them when the truck jutted forward and made a sound Alfred would later describe as a howling dog in a blender.

"Matthew, get out of the truck." Alfred said as calmly as he could, the truck slowly sliding sideways into the bank next to them. Matthew watched him as he frantically pressed against the gas, switching between drive and neutral. "Now."

"But you're still gonna be in the truck!" Matthew said, struggling with his seat belt before Alfred reached over and undid it for him.

"Mattie, Now!" Alfred repeated himself, yelling over the rain and wind. Matthew hesitated, making eye contact with Alfred before flinging the heavy door open and jumping out onto the muddy road, the books firmly pressed against his jacket. light came only from the truck's headlights, leaving Matthew to blindly jump and flounder out of the truck, his knees buckling under him and gravel digging into one of his palms as he dropped the books.

He turned and watched as Alfred's truck slid further down off the road, the sound of the right-side wheels spinning desperately for traction against the dark ground. The passenger side door hung wide open, whipping back and forth with the wind, like a metal arm trying to find something to grab onto.

"Al!" Matthew yelled, dumping the books on the ground as he reached out for Alfred's truck, grabbing onto the waving passenger door. Maybe if he pulled hard enough, he thought, he could lift the truck back up onto the road, the power of fear helping him pull the truck up. The truck was nearly parallel to the creek below now, Matthew's heels digging trails into the mud as it dragged him slowly across the ground. He gave up when it became apparent that he didn't have a chance and grabbed the passenger's seat, reaching a hand out to Alfred.

Tan hands clasped pale wrists as Alfred hoisted himself up out of the driver's seat, the bed of the truck losing all support as it dropped off the road completely, the front wheel clinging for only a brief frame of time. Alfred practically launched himself out of the truck, heels catching on the door and tackling Matthew to the ground in the dark, Matthew latching onto him and rolling with him into the muddy road.

"Alfred!" Matthew said, kneeling out of his push up position and pulling Alfred up with him, Alfred's hands still firmly clasped around Matthew's. "Are you okay?"

Matthew was gripping the breast of Alfred's jacket like he had when trying to pull the truck.

"Yeah, yeah, 'm fine, are you?" Alfred rushed, eyes scanning Matthew's face. "I'm so sorry, Matthew, I thought that I could make that turn, I shouldn't have even tri-"

Alfred stopped as they heard his truck making its way through the foliage, ripping and crushing as it tumbled itself down to the creek, trees and metal weaving together in a cacophony of metallic sound. The two listened as it seemed to finally come to a stop in the darkness deep below them, the sound of trees breaking under the weight and a splash of water topping it all off.

"I've got a flashlight on my phone, hang on. I'll see if I can see it."

Alfred grabbed his phone out of the library book bag, turning the flashlight on. He crawled his way over to the edge of the road ,with Matthew right next to him, and peered down, holding his phone out shakily. Nothing.

"I can't see anything, it's too- holy crap," Alfred started, freezing mid-sentence as the light trailed onto his hands. Blood was smeared in with the mud and gravel, shiny liquid mixing with the dark dirt. "Matthew- Matthew, you're bleeding!"

"It's fine, it's just my hands-" A sickening _Splat_ sound as a drop of dark syrup splashed onto Matthew's windbreaker and ran down his sleeve. _Splat._

"Give me that." Matthew said, grabbing Alfred's phone and holding it up between the two of them, delicately holding it with his fingernails to avoid bleeding on it. "Sorry, hang on."

In the light, Matthew could see that a big gash ran from Alfred's right temple to his left eye, a steady stream of blood filtering down into his eyebrows. His nose was bleeding, blood running down over his lips, mud plastering Alfred's hair down. "I hit my face on the door when I jumped, I think. Is it bad?"

Matthew smiled at him nervously and slipped Alfred's phone into his windbreaker jacket.

"Let's get to the house, can you walk?" Matthew asked, rolling into a squatting position before getting up. He lent out his good hand to Alfred, who denied it.

"Can you? I'm fine." Alfred said. "Careful, I don't want to risk you digging that any deeper into your skin."

Alfred pulled his jacket off and held it out over the duo, trying to defend them against the now drizzling rain. They stayed in the center of the road, Matthew holding his injured hand out in front of them, Alfred stopping for a moment to make a comment along the lines of: "That looks messed up, bro."

Alfred grabbed Matthew's good hand while they walked, intertwining his fingers with Matthew's and holding tight as the jacket weakly slumped over their heads. "Maybe next time," Alfred said softly, "We try this when I'm not driving."

"Uh-huh." Matthew said, provoking a laugh from Alfred, who shook their hands in the air and landed a light kiss on their knuckles.

"Nice, bro." Alfred squeezed particularly hard, his fingernails digging into Matthew's skin. He took a strained breath and faltered in his step a little. "You killed my fucking truck."

"Sorry? I killed it? I'm not the one who tried to fight a muddy road with tires that looked like inflatable inter-tubes, eh."

"Excuse me? Inter-tubes? Are you calling my baby trashy?" Alfred asked, trying to hide a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Your 'baby' could win a shitty-redneck-truck contest." Matthew retorted, snorting on the word 'baby'.

"Oh, you know what? You wanna go?" Alfred smacked his and Matthew's hands against his chest. "Bring it, you sleepy, maple-loving freak."

The two -soaked with blood, mud, and little rocks- made their way to the house in the dark, bickering back and forth, Alfred never letting go of Matthew's hand. Not even when Alfred knocked on the door and let his jacket slip off of them, crumpling around their feet on the wet porch.

A light flicked distantly inside the house and seconds later on the porch, a bug-crusted light buzzing into life above them. Someone stomped feverishly inside, as Alfred kicked his jacket up onto the porch swing. The door swung open and the illuminated outline of Tino appeared, his hair ruffled with static and wrapped in an old death metal concert t-shirt.

"Alfred, can't this wait until morning? It's a school night." Tino said, barely awake with a blanket tied around his waist. He rubbed his eyes and blinked at the bloody duo, eyes turning big as dinner plates as he looked them up and down in the blinding porch light. "Alfred! What happened?!"

Tino ushered them into the warm house without any protest, steering them towards the kitchen table as he kicked the door shut. He slammed Matthew down into a seat as Alfred pulled out one himself, Tino throwing a kitchen drawer open and grabbing the contents inside. Matthew made note of the flowery tablecloth and kitchey decorations as Tino forced Alfred's head back, pressing a rag against Alfred's face. "Hold this."

"Daddy?" A small voice squeaked from the hallway, a yawn breaking through. "Woah! What happened to your face Alfred?! Did you fight someone?" Peter stood in the doorway, dressed in a light blue onesie with yellow stars, odd for a 12-year-old. He was suddenly awake the second he saw Alfred's messed-up face, peeking out from the hallway door.

Peter tried to get a closer look at Alfred with his blanket trailing behind him on the floor, only to be thwarted by Tino's arm shooting out and holding him back. "Go, wake up your father and Mathias, now."

"Stay here, I'll go grab a pair of tweezers and a toothbrush." Tino said after he pulled the sleeves of Matthew's windbreaker down, running out of the room and down the hallway after Peter.

"Stay here? Where am I gonna go, eh?" Matthew whispered. Alfred snorted loudly, the rag falling off and a sudden spray of blood flying across the tablecloth.

"Maybe you're gonna make a run for it, live a life of crime." Alfred said, his voice muffled with blood as he wiped the rag across his mouth, only smearing it around. "Matthew the bloody, they'll call you. Like Bloody Mary, but instead of the whole bathing in virgin blood thing you can just wipe your bloody hands on them. You don't even have to steal anything, you can just go around rubbing your bloody mitts on people."  
Alfred mocked himself by holding his hands up in the air, letting go of Matthew's hand to rub his blood on a pretend face while Matthew laughed.

"I'll drive your getaway car, but it'll be one of those two-person bicycles instead."

"Those hideous things? Why don't we just run instead, eh?" Matthew laughed. He noticed Alfred wince when he applied pressure on the bridge of his nose, blood dribbling down his chin and streaking down his neck. "Hey, Alfred?"

Alfred grunted and looked over at him, rag wrapped up around his nose. The gash across his eyebrows was running blood into his eyebrows and coated Alfred's bangs with a bloody tinge, matting across his forehead.

"Don't dye your hair any shade of red, you'll look hideous." Matthew said, using the back of his hand to smudge away a blood drip heading for Alfred's eye. Alfred kicked him under the table, but a smile flashed across his face, mirroring Matthew's own snide one.

Matthew looked down at his own red hands, now a combo of his and Alfred's blood. "Did you mean to call me Mattie? Earlier?"

"Nah, it just kinda... came out. I think maybe it was the whole about-to-fall-to-probable-death thing, had to cut things short. Do you mind?" Alfred replied. He squeezed the bridge of his nose to try and stem the bleeding, wincing once again and letting go with a simple 'Ow'.

"No. No, of course not. But," Matthew hesitated and Alfred looked over at him, blue eyes contrasted brightly against the rest of his face. "I'd prefer if it was just you, okay?"

Alfred smiled, teeth bloody and lips stained. "Call me Al."

* * *

"Al, don't ring the doorbell again."

America's finger twitched over the little white button on England's porch.

"What if he didn't hear it?"

"We heard it, so he heard it."

"We heard it, so he heard it? That's just stupid, he's so old he probably uses hearing aids."

"If you press that button again so help me I will remove that finger and anything else that looks like it."

America made direct eye contact with Canada as he pressed the doorbell again.

"That just means I can screw up 11 times, Mattie."

* * *

Matthew felt like a melted piece of chocolate in a foil wrapper, his muscles practically molded into Alfred's bedspread.

"But I-I wanna make sure he's okay-" Matthew had protested as Mathias ushered him out the downstairs door. "What if it's something serious?"

"Don't worry, don't worry! He's gonna be great, tough cookie that kid is, and when he wakes up we'll take care of him, fix him up, maybe get a few drinks into him if he feels up for it-" Mathias said, fast enough that Matthew couldn't interject. His words were running together, laughing while he spoke. "It'll be a laugh, yeah?"

"A-a laugh? Drinks?!" Matthew stuttered, his feet pushed over the doorstep and onto the welcome mat. "What if he has a concussion? Does this town even have a doctor?!"

"Nope, guess we'll just have to wing it! Haha!" Mathias said anxiously, trying to slam the door shut on Matthew's back. Matthew wedged his foot in the door to stop him, catching Mathias's eye.

"He hasn't eaten all day." Matthew panted, trying to convey the fact that the only thing Alfred had actually eaten was a few fries, stolen from Matthew's plate.

Seconds later Matthew learned that the front door had two locks as each one slid into place and Matthew was against the door on the dark porch, Mathias's garbled voice on the other side.

Now Matthew had pulled the blankets up around his waist and was propped up against Alfred's headboard, relaxing in his boxers and a stolen sweatshirt. The old sitcom on the TV was singing life into the room and bathing everything in a blue hue, Matthew's eyes unfocused and staring as the characters moved on screen.

Matthew fell asleep shortly after while sitting up, body buried in the blankets and hand wrapped up in bandages, a laugh track playing in the background. He had listened to the voices and yelling downstairs, making a reminder to find that bus schedule tomorrow.

* * *

"Tino," Berwald whispered sleepily. "Peter is h'ving his kick-boxing dream again."

A tiny fist made contact with Berwald's ribs as Peter fought someone in his sleep, flinging his fists wildly. He was going for the gold in dreamland and Berwald was the unfortunate recipient. Sleeping on the left side of the bed, Berwald had Peter sandwiched between him and Tino, Tino barely holding on to the edge of the bed as Peter flailed.

"I can tell..." Was Tino's grumpy response, along with rolling over and leaving Berwald to take the grunt of Peter's dream punches. The large swedish man could only take it for so long and shook Peter awake, stopping Peter mid-fight as he looking around dazedly.

"Peter-" Berwald said, picking the kid up and rolling him over the edge of the bed. "Go sleep with yer' uncle."

"M'kay." Peter said sleepily, rubbing his eyes with balled-up hands. He grabbed the blanket off the end of the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders, dragging it on the floor behind him as he walked into the hall. The moment he left the room, Berwald lazily rolled over and wrapped his arms around Tino's torso, falling back asleep quickly.

Peter shuffled down the hall and into the kitchen, following the yellow light leaking out from Emil's room. He swept the floors behind him with the olive-green blanket as he made his way around the kitchen table, stopping only once to glance over at the passed-out Alfred snoring away on the couch.

He paused and blinked at the blond teen with bandages wrapped around his head, memories of how only hours earlier that kid was having glass picked out of his forehead, practically being interrogated by Tino.

Peter had only seen his dad go as ballistic on one other person as he did earlier to Alfred, but never so much out of concern. Not with so much concern in his words and expressions, reducing Alfred to tears. Peter had never actually been so... pitiful of someone on the other end of Tino before, Emil even coming out of his room to see the commotion.

"You never even bothered to tell us! You have a stranger up in your room, wearing your clothes, eating your food-" Tino had started, swabbing at Alfred's forehead gash with a cotton ball.

"He paid for -ow- it." Alfred squeaked as a disinfectant wipe made contact with his wound.

"He paid for it?! Did he pay to stay up in that room too, huh?!" Tino threw the wipe on the table as Berwald gently moved him aside, taking over for him.

"No, he didn't but I, he needed a place to stay and he didn't have anythin-"

"_YOU_ DON'T HAVE ANYTHING, ALFRED!" Tino screamed, face turning red as one of the kitchen chairs went flying to the ground.

The house went dead silent, Tino staring down at Alfred like he was a piece of meat, his voice ragged and face flushed.

"DO YOU KNOW THE FUCKING FEAR THAT WENT THROUGH MY MIND WHEN YOU SHOWED UP LOOKING LIKE THIS, BLOODY AND COVERED IN GLASS? YOU WON'T LET US TAKE CARE OF YOU, AND YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WE WANT TO, BUT YOU'LL LET A STRANGER INTO YOUR ROOM?!"

Peter was hiding behind the side of the couch watching the scene unfold, his legs aching from squatting behind the couch arm. Berwald was busy trying to clean Alfred's gash, sitting next to Alfred's side and dabbing away. Tino was right in front of Alfred, having just thrown a chair as Mathias kneaded his hands awkwardly, sitting on the other side of table. Emil's door wasn't shut tight like usual, cracked open just enough to see into the kitchen.

"DO YOU WANT TO END UP DEAD, ALFRED? A WEEK AGO YOU TOLD ME HE WAS STAYING FOR A NIGHT. ONE FUCKING NIGHT! YOU TOLD US THAT YOU WERE EATING, THAT YOU WERE TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF, THAT YOU WERE- " Tino flipped around and threw one of the drinking glasses against a wall, the glass shattering as shards skittered all around. He ran his hands in his hair and rested his elbows against the sink rim, a heated breath as he dug his fingers into his scalp.

Berwald finished up and wrapped a gauze strip around Alfred's head, matching Mathias' own head bandages. He scooted over and clasped a hand on Alfred's shoulder, patting him on the back meaningfully. "We're your family, Alfr'd. We might not have... room, but..."

"You're ours." Mathias whispered during Berwald's silence. Heads turned in his direction, all except Tino's, who was still angrily huffing into the sink. "You're... lost. We don't all get along but... you need help, and we're here to help you."

Tino flipped around and nudged Berwald out of the way, burying Alfred's head into his chest. "Don't scare me like that." Tino muttered into Alfred's hair, pressing tight against the back of his head.

"You were standing on that porch and I... my mind shot right back to the night I found you." Tino's voice dropped to a whisper and his grip on the back of Alfred's neck tightened.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Alfred mumbled, hot tears soaking into Tino's shirt. and he slowly grabbed onto the back of Tino's shirt. "I'm sorry."

Peter knocked on Mathias's door, pulling his blanket tighter as he broke out of the memory. He could still hear Tino yelling in the back of his mind, asking Alfred repeatedly if Matthew had done this to him, if Matthew was the reason Alfred wasn't eating, or getting enough sleep, or bleeding profusely from the forehead. No, no, no, no, and then horrid silence as Peter's legs cramped for the rest of the evening.

"Huh? Oh, hey kiddo." Mathias said as his door fell open, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. "Why you up this late?"

"Kick-boxing dream. I was kicking butt too." Peter said, yawning as he stepped past Mathias and clambored onto the springy bed.

"Ah, yeah?" Mathias asked, climbing back into his side of the bed. "Anyone in particular?"

"Nah."


End file.
